


Perfect Cookies

by MadamRogers



Category: X-Men
Genre: Cookies, F/M, Sweet Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 03:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17256839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamRogers/pseuds/MadamRogers
Summary: You get sad when you think you burned the cookies that were supposed to be perfect. But Erik really is perfect.





	Perfect Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> For winter celebration on Tumblr.
> 
> Prompts used:
> 
> 6\. “Here, have a cookie”
> 
> 40\. “Don’t laugh at my majestic sweater”

You respected Erik’s Jewishness. They didn’t celebrate Christmas, so you didn’t expect Erik to differ from that. He didn’t. He celebrated Hanukkah in the beginning of December, but still stayed with you even during Christmas, and you thought that was sweet of him. It would’ve been easy for him to just leave and decide that he didn’t want to be there.

Maybe it was his way to show you he cared. His way to show you and Charles, if you were precise.

You didn’t have that many traditions during Christmas, other than baking cookies, going to your family and buying presents. One of them was something you had just made up a few Christmases ago and it was so amusing you couldn’t stop; you wore the ugliest Christmas sweater you had found from the shop. You didn’t take it off during Christmas, you even slept with it. You had baked cookies with Charles and Hank (even though Charles was the one eating more dough than actually baking) but they were still in the oven, so you couldn’t eat them just yet.

You went to read a book you had taken from Charles’ shelf a few weeks ago. You didn’t actually know what it was about, all your focus was on the cookies in the oven. But still, you got lost in the book. Without actually registering much of it, you read for a long while. You felt like a masochist; you read a book you didn’t understand a thing of instead of going to get a nice fictional novel from your own shelf.

And then happened the thing you were most afraid of: you forgot when you were supposed to take the cookies from the oven.

You swore to the name of every single people you knew that you’d suffocate Hank with his food at Christmas table if he didn’t play the hero.

Feeling sad, you didn’t get up from the armchair. It was easier to just mourn there than go to check the disaster in the kitchen. You didn’t want to see such a thing.

Not even your ugly sweater was able to save the situation.

You had set the book on the table next to the armchair and leaned your head against the end of the chair. Knowing very well that if someone walked in now, they’d see you looking very depressed and beaten up, you still didn’t move. You had every right to mourn the cookies.

They had smelled so good. The dough had been so good. They had been perfect.

That was before the oven.

And now they…

They were all dead.

You sniffed.

He came in the library and before even seeing your face he saw the sweater you were wearing. The elf was making a face at him and he had no other option than laughing.

“Don’t laugh at my majestic sweater, Erik,” you scolded him. You’d recognize that laugh anywhere. It was something you held dear because you didn’t hear it too often.

“I’m not, I promise,” something in his voice told you that he was partially lying.

Of course he was. Everybody was laughing at you sweater, the elf on it. But it had been the purpose of the whole thing – yes, until the fiasco with the cookies.

Erik’s laughter didn’t make you smile this time.

“What’s wrong?” he asked and you heard him stopping somewhere in front of you.

“Like you’d care,” you gave him a nonspecific answer. It was the best you were able to give him at the moment.

“I do care,” he huffed. You knew he was most likely raising his eyebrows. “Might surprise you if I told you how much I actually care when it comes to you. Y/N, don’t act like that. What’s wrong? What did Charles do this time?” his voice got lower at the point he talked about Charles.

He knew what kind of a relationship you had with the telepath. It was full of teasing you both actually loved. But this time it wasn’t funny at all.

“Why does it always have to be Charles?”

“Isn’t it always him?”

“This time it was me. They were so… so perfect and I… I killed them.”

Erik breathed out. It sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Again. He didn’t mean any harm when he laughed at you; you knew how silly you looked. He was right to laugh, probably tried to cheer you up.

There was only one thing that would cheer you up right now. And it was impossible to get that thing.

All because of you, and Charles’ stupid book.

Maybe you should suffocate Charles with his food instead of Hank…?

Erik chuckled. “Here, have a cookie.”

You lifted your head up from the end of the armchair and righted your body so quickly that Erik widened his eyes.

“What…?” you stared at the white plate he handed. “Where…? Where did you get these?”

“From the kitchen,” he said like it was obvious. And it was, just not to you. “Took these from the oven and let them be for a while.”

You turned to look up at Erik. “But… I… Erik, I killed these cookies.”

He chuckled harder this time. “No, they’re very much alive. Look,” he took a step closer and set the plate down on your lap because you didn’t take it from him.

You looked down at the plate and the cookies on it. They weren’t burned, they were… perfect.

As your gaze found Erik again, your hand took one of the cookies and guided it between your lips. Erik examined your movements with his eyes with a funny smile on his lips; a smile that was partially amused and partially very confused of how cookies could be that important.

You had thought he had already learned how important cookies indeed were to you. You’d die for cookies.

When you took the first bite, you were more than sure. You didn’t need to suffocate anyone.

Erik had saved your cookies.

You set the plate down on the table next to the armchair and wrapped your arms around Erik’s neck with the half-eaten cookie still between your fingers.

“Thank you, Erik,” you mumbled, voice shattering.

“Are you… crying?” he breathed, wrapping his own arms around you slowly.

“No. No, I’m not.” Who were you kidding? Your eyes were watering.

You heard Erik’s sigh.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N…”


End file.
